i 


CAT  ^ TALES 

THE 

Hbbty  press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH  AVENUE 

Condon  NEW  YORK  Montreal 

IN  Ng  VERSE 

WRITTEN  ^ BY 


CONTENTS. 


Araminta 5 

Lady  Jane 7 

Cassius 9 

Kitten  Gray n 

Oi.d  Grim 13 

The  Proper  Man 15 

An  Evening  Episode 16 

The  Battle 18 

Old  Tommy 20 

Pussy  Wouldn't  Go 22 

The  Evening  Call 23 

Billy 24 

Seraphine 26 

The  Family  Cat 29 

Outside 31 

Uncanny 33 

Unexpected 35 

Vindication 37 

The  Stranger  Cat 40 

Pussy’s  Serenade 42 

Madge 44 

A Dollar’s  Worth 45 


ELLIOT -WALKER 


Copyright,  1900, 
by 

THE 

press 

in 

the 

United  States 
and 

Great  Britain. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


<444444444'<4'«44'<44'<44'<444444444'<4'«4'4<«4'«4'«4444'44'«444 1 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE. 

itfc.  Elliot  Walker  was  born  nearly  forty-five  years  ago 
at  Pittsfield,  Mass.;  Iiis  boyhood  was  passed  among  the 
beautiful  Berkshire  hills.  An  ardent  love  for  trout  fishing 
he  has  always  had,  and  the  many  solitary  expeditions  taken 
among  the  mountains  and  along  the  wild  streams  of  that 
famous  region,  have  developed  in  him  a natural  love  of 
Nature  in  all  her  forms.  This  will  be  quickly  appreciated 
by  those  who  read  his  verses;  even  these  attractive  “Cat 
Tales”  show  in  many  ways  his  disposition  to  touch  upon 
the  simple  natural  surroundings  which  his  subjects  reach. 

Enjoying  the  best  private  school  instruction  in  early 
childhood,  he  entered  the  public  schools  for  which  Pittsfield 
is  justly  famed,  and  grad  noting  from  the  old  Town  Gram- 
mar School  at  the  head  of  his  class,  he  entered  the  High 
School  with  a number  of  boys,  now  well  known  Williams 
College  alumni. 

His  taste  for  composition  and  declamation  during  his 
school  years  was  marked  by  all,  and  now,  as  time  has 
brought  him  to  the  point  of  writing  for  the  public,  much 
will  be  found  in  his  work  to  interest. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen  he  entered  the  Massachusetts  In- 
stitute of  Technology  at  Boston,  but  remained  there  only  a 
few  months,  leaving  to  enter  upon  a business  career  since 
followed  successfully. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  201 7. with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/cattalesinverse00walk_0 


Arammta 


UT  on  my  shady,  rose-decked 
porch  I sit, 

My  interested  neighbors  enter- 
taining 

With  stories  of  intelligence  and 
wit, 

Due  to  the  cats  who’ve  always  had  my  train- 
ing. 

I dilate  on  the  persevering  style 

With  which  I bring  them  sense  of  house- 
hold scheme, 

I praise  their  honest  ways — yet  all  the  while 
Araminta’s  in  the  pantry,  stealing  cream. 

I speak  of  many  a well-directed  cuff 
It  pained  me  to  inflict,  but  it  was  due 
To  much-beloved  pets  who’d  had  enough, 

But  failed  to  understand  when  they  were 
through. 


A cat  should  be  reproved,  much  as  a child ; 
Perhaps  they  know  more — strange  as  it  may 
seem. 

And  while  I praise  their  ways,  so  soft  and  mild, 
Araminta’s  in  the  pantry,  stealing  cream. 

My  interested  neighbors  bend  their  ears, 

And  ask  me  if  cats  haven’t  pilfering  ways. 

I state  that  from  experience  of  years, 

Upon  the  whole,  their  honesty  I praise. 

“Well-educated  cats  will  hungry  go, 

Before  they  pilfer.”  As  I gladly  beam 

Upon  my  listeners,  saying  it’s  not  so, 

Araminta’s  in  the  pantry,  stealing  cream. 

The  table  manners  of  my  furry  friends 
I dwell  upon,  as  showing  that  they  know, 

With  slight  correction,  how  to  make  amends 
For  small  mistakes.  It  only  goes  to  show, 


5 


6 


Araminta. 


Their  appetites — tho’  naturally  sharp — 

Can  be  corrected,  same  as  ours,  I deem. 
While  on  the  virtues  of  my  pets  I harp, 
Araminta’s  in  the  pantry,  stealing  cream. 

My  friends  are  quite  converted  to  my  views; 
Each  has  a tale  of  some  loved  cat  to  tell ; 


We  all  bend  forward,  not  a word  to  lose, 
When  from  the  kitchen  comes  a sudden 
yell. 

We  start,  aghast.  My  ears  alone  detect 
The  angry  tones  of  cook’s  disgusted  scream ; 
A direful  charge,  the  last  I should  expect, 
“Araminta’s  in  the  pantry,  stealing  cream.’’ 


Lady 

OU  were  a lady,  through  and  through, 
And  we  were  very  fond  of  you, 
Although  you  were  a little  shrew, 
Lady  Jane. 

< 

Your  beauty  was  a thing  of  note. 

You  wore  a lovely  Maltese  coat, 

And  a white  spot  beneath  your  throat, 

Lady  Jane. 

Also  white  stockings  on  your  feet. 

You  always  kept  yourself  as  neat 
As  any  one  upon  the  street, 

Lady  Jane. 

< 

Aristocratic  blood  you  showed. 

Your  ways  were  always  “a  la  mode,” 

Though  independence  was  your  code, 

Lady  Jane, 


Jane* 

Your  slender  form  was  full  of  grace; 

You  had  a most  attractive  face, 

And  haughtily  preserved  your  place. 

Lady  Jane. 

Truest  affection  you  did  show 
Towards  the  friends  who  loved  you  so — 
For  enemies,  a ready  blow, 

Lady  Jane. 

Your  anger  was  a thing  to  fear; 

The  sharp  white  teeth,  the  flattened  ear, 
The  lashing  tail,  the  feline  sneer, 

Lady  Jane. 

Were  ever  ready  if  you  saw 
A chance  with  your  uplifted  paw, 

Upon  some  hated  dog  to  score, 

Lady  Jane. 


7 


But  human  friends  you  never  hit; 
You  never  scratched,  you  never  bit, 
Although  you  very  often  spit, 

Lady  Jai§^ 

Your  kittens,  which  you’d  often  get, 
Provided  many  a household  pet, 
And  some  of  them  are  living  yet, 
Lady  Jane. 


When 'good  old  age  had  made  you  gray 
We  found  one  pleasant  summer  day, 
That  you  had  calmly  passed  away, 

Lady  Jane. 

We  laid  you  down  in  peace  to  sleep, 
Looked  sadly  at  the  little  heap, 

And  then  we  went  away  to  weep, 

Lady  Jane. 


Cassius 


WENT  into  a neighbor’s  house 
One  night,  to  make  a call ; 

| When  on  the  frightened  air  arose 
A hideous  caterwaul. 

A strange,  fierce  yell,  so  very  near 
I jumped  up  from  my  chair, 
And  really  felt  a sudden  fear 
That  some  wild  thing  was  there. 
“What’s  that?’’  said  I.  “Are 
strange  beasts  nigh  ? 

Will  they  come  in  and  gnash  us?’’ 

The  girls  all  laugh — “Don’t  be  a calf, 

Why,  that  is  only  Cassius !” 


I heard  a scratching  at  the  pane, 

And  angry  at  my  blunder, 

I pushed  aside  the  curtain  white, 

And  there  I saw,  “by  thunder !” 

A weird  black  face,  two  fiery  eyes, 

Peer  wickedly  in  mine. 

I jumped  again  in  scared  surprise, 

And  gave  a startled  sign; 

“Don’t  look  at  it— you’d  have  a fit ; 

Don’t  stir,  don’t  raise  that  sash!” 

The  girls  guffawed — “Sit  down,  you  fraud; 
Why,  that  is  only  Cash !” 


9 


to 

“Good  night,”  said  I,  “he’s  coming  in, 
And  I have  got  to  go. 

There’s  something  evil  in  his  grin, 

He’s  after  me,  I know. 

Of  course  I’m  very  fond  of  cats — 

But  really  I can’t  stay ! 


Cassius. 


Which  one  is  mine  among  these  hats  ? 
§ I’ve  got  to  get  away ! 

Yes,  I’m  not  very  well,  I fear.” 

The  girls  once  more  guffaw, 

• And  hurry  me  with,  “Cassius,  dear, 
Just  see  him  to  the  door.” 


Kitten  Gray* 


S there  anything  so  witching 
. As  my  little  Kitten  Gray  ? 
How  she  frisks,  how  she  whisks, 
In  her  pretty,  idle  play ; 

How  she  chases  for  her  tail 
Which  forever  gets  away; 

How  she  prances,  how  she  dances, 

In  the  sunny  summer  day. 

“Oh,  my  love,  there’s  a dove; 

It  looks  quite  as  large  as  you. 

How  you  crouch,  how  you  slouch, 

And  you  mean  to  get  it  too. 

Oh,  you  naughty  little  witch, 

I shall  have  to  get  a switch, 

Just  to  teach  what  I preach. 

On  your  wicked  little  back 


You  will  feel,  for  your  weal, 
Quite  a smarting  little  whack. 

• “Now  it’s  gone,  little  Gray; 

Did  you  think  it  would  stay? 
Play  away,  while  you  may, 

For  it  really  doesn’t  pay 
To  try  to  catch  the  dove; 

It  is  very  much  above 
Such  a little  cat  as  you, 

And  I guess  you  know  it,  too. 

“What  surprise  in  your  eyes, 
And  your  tail  is  such  a size! 
How  you  sneak,  how  you  peek, 
And  your  hair  begins  to  rise; 


ft 


12 


Kitten  Gray. 


How  you  flee  up  the  tree, 

And  you  really  frighten  me, 

For  my  neighbor’s  dog  you  see, 

And  I know  you  don’t  agree. 

9 

“Come  down,  pray  come  down ; 

I will  hide  you  in  my  gown, 


For  the  dog  is  not  around, 

And  you  really  make  me  frown. 
It’s  no  fun  in  the  sun, 

And  I’ll  surely  go  away. 

In  my  arms  you  alight 

In  a fright,  but  all  right; — 
Run  and  play  all  the  day, 

Naughty  little  Kitten  Gray,” 


Old  Grim 


>>>^ WAS  long  past  midnight;  just  the 
time 

I When  life  is  at  its  lowest  ebb; 

The  hour  when  scoundrels,  steeped 
in  crime, 

Enmesh  in  their  burglarious  web 
The  household  silver ; forks  and  knives, 
Spoons,  ladles,  cups,  alike  they  take; 

And  when  the  morning  light  arrives, 

You  swear  because  you  did  not  wake. 

That  gloomy,  rough  December  night, 

A man  in  bed  lay  sound  asleep, 

Wrapped  fast  in  blankets  warm  and  tight. 

He  could  not  hear  those  footsteps  creep — 
The  muffled  sounds  of  dreadful  men, 

Effecting  entrance  to  his  home. 

How  peaceful  were  his  slumbers  then. 

His  thoughts  in  quiet  dreamland  roam. 


But  in  the  kitchen  there  were  eyes 

That  saw  strange  forms  come  in  the  door 
And  little  ears  in  wild  surprise, 

Heard  whispers  never  heard  before. 
Unlocked,  the  pantry  door  stood  wide, — 

A soft  gray  shadow  flitted  through. 

Along  the  dining-room  it  hied, 

And  up  the  staircase  wildly  flew. 


Upon  the  sleeping  man  it  jumped, 

And  horribly  it  startled  him. 

Its  tail  was  large,  its  back  was  humped. 

A stuttering,  “What’s  the  matter,  Grim  ?” 
Was  all  the  waking  man  could  say. 

“Why,  it  was  nothing  but  the  cat ! 

But  surely  'tisn’t  nearly  day; 

Why  did  Grim  spit  and  growl  like  that?” 


*3 


1 4 


Old 


A sudden  sense  of  something  wrong 
Flashed  to  his  half-unconscious  brain. 

He  did  not  hesitate  for  long, 

For  now  the  situation’s  plain, — 

The  pantry  door  was  always  locked; 

The  cat  had  come  through  while  he  slept. 

Fie  quickly  his  revolver  cocked, 

And  down  the  stairway  softly  crept. 

A sudden  flash,  a sharp  report, 

Then  yells  and  oaths  and  flying  feet. 

The  miscreants  hurried  safety  sought, 

And  soon  were  running  up  the  street. 

The  household  screamed  in  sad  affright, 
And  Grim  set  up  a doleful  cry. 

But  soon,  assured  that  all  is  right, 

To  quiet  down  they  bravely  try. 


A careful  estimate  of  spoons, 

And  forks,  and  other  silverware, 

Rendered  all  grateful  for  their  boons ; 

For  every  little  thing  was  there. 

The  gallant  man  who  fired  the  gun, 

Was  quite  a hero  in  his  way, 

But  after  all  was  said  and  done, 

Grim  was  the  hero  of  the  day. 

Yes,  Grim,  old  Grim,  the  kitchen  cat, 

Whose  ways  were  somewhat  rough  and  wild, 
Was  ever  treated,  after  that, 

As  if  he  were  an  only  child. 

Upon  the  parlor  rug  he’d  lie, 

And  nothing  was  too  good  for  him ; 

For  he  had  saved  the  family 

From  spoliation — good  old  Grim. 


The  Proper  Man 


I SAW  somewhere  not  long  ago, 

A saying  wise  and  true, 

And  thinking  it  is  worth  my  while, 

I tell  it  now  to  you. 

’Twas  this: — “A  woman’s  always  safe 
In  marrying  a man 

Who’s  fond  of  cats I think  it’s  so, — 
Just  try  it  if  you  can. 

A man  to  whom  the  cats  appeal 
Has  very  tender  ways. 

He  may  not  be  a pious  man, 

Nor  one  who  gets  much  praise, 

But  you  will  find  a sympathy — 

An  honest  heart  and  true, — 

A generous  soul,  a helping  hand. 

Does  that  appeal  to  you? 


He’s  apt  to  be  a modest  man 
Who  won’t  be  pushed  too  far, 

For  he  has  temper  underneath, 
Though  he  avoids  a jar. 

He  has  a lot  of  plain  ideas 
Of  what  he  thinks  is  right, 

And  while  he  “puts  up  with  a pile,' 
He’s  competent  to  fight. 

Now  if  you  wish  to  married  be, 
What  is  it  that  you  seek? 

Though  riches,  wealth  and  family 
Might  tend  to  make  you  meek, 
Your  life  must  not  be  thrown  away 
For  such  vain  dross  as  that. 

Cast  such  aside  and  try  to  get 
A man  who  loves  a cat. 


t5 


An  Evening 

NLY  a kitten  wandering  on 
the  street, 

Wet  and  bedraggled, 
pitiful  to  see, 

Hungry  and  frightened,  at 
my  very  feet, 
it  don’t  belong  to  me. 

None  of  my  business.  What  a fool  I am 
To  stop  and  listen  to  its  plaintive  mew, 

And  see  it  is  not  stepped  on  in  this  jam. 

It’s  nothing  but  a dirty  nuisance  too. 

Good  Lord!  it’s  clutching  at  my  trousers  leg! 

I must  not  stop,  I’ve  got  to  catch  that  car. 

It’s  raining  hard.  My  gracious,  see  it  beg ! 

I’ll  have  to  take  it  up.  “Well,  there  you  are!” 


Episode* 

Yes,  there  you  are,  and  also  here  am  I ! 

Really  the  greatest  jackass  in  the  town. 
There  comes  my  car ; thunder ! it’s  going  by. 
“Let  go  my  coat,  I’ve  got  to  put  you  down. 

“You  won’t  let  go?  I wish  you  wouldn’t 
purr. 

The  car  is  gone;  I would  that  you  were  too. 
Take  out  your  claws.  I cannot  make  you  stir. 
What  in  creation  shall  I do  with  you? 

“I’ll  take  you  to  that  bright  electric  light 
And  set  you  down  where  you  can  find  your 
way” — 

Pshaw ! of  course  all  cats  can  see  at  night ! — 
“Well,  you  must  go,  that’s  all  I’ve  got  to 
say.” 


An  Evening  Episode. 


J7 


Oh,  dear,  it’s  nestled  right  inside  my  coat. 

I swear  I think  the  thing  has  gone  to 
sleep. 

I hear  a little  drowsy,  purring  note; — 

No,  it’s  impossible  for  me  to  keep — 

Is  it  impossible  ? It’s  hardly  that ; 

I guess  I’ll  have  to  take  it  after  all. 


I am  the  biggest  fool  about  a cat ! 

“Some  men  would  kick  you  just  to  hear  you 
^ squall. 

“You’re  getting  warm  and  dry  against  my 
breast. 

• Here  comes  another  car,  and  home  we’ll  go. 
Keep  quiet,  little  one,  you’re  safe  at  rest ; 

If  I’m  a fool  the  good  Lord  made  me  so !” 


The  Battle 


HE  moon  shed  bright,  on  a 
summer  night, 

Her  calm  refulgence,  over 
The  fields  and  shades  of  the 
woodland  glades, 

And  the  brook,  that  merry 
rover. 

She  brought  in  sight  with  her  mellow  light, 
Those  spots  where  darkness  lingers, 

And  held  full  sway  with  her  brilliant  ray, 

And  creeping  golden  fingers. 

On  an  old  woodshed,  in  the  silence  dead, 

At  a safe,  respectful  distance, 

With  eyes  ope’d  wide,  each  the  other  eyed, 
With  most  malign  insistence, 


There  sat  in  pride,  in  the  fair  moontide, 

Two  cats,  both  fierce  and  lusty; 

And  they  sharped  their  claws  without  a pause, 
On  the  timbers  rough  and  musty. 

© 

They  opened  the  ball  with  a warlike  call, 
Which  died  away  in  growling. 

Then  a mutual  yell  rose  up  and  fell, 

As  if  the  fiends  were  howling. 

Then  they  hunched  along,  with  a spirit  strong, 
Till  a foot’s  length  barely  parted 

Their  faces  fierce — then  “cut  and  tierce” — 

And  a battle  royal  started. 

© 

They  made  no  noise ; they  were  seasoned  boys 
Who  saved  their  breath  for  fighting; 

But  they  went  “kerflop”  on  the  woodshed’s  top, 
(“Kerflop”  ’s  allowed  in  writing!) 


18 


With  splendid  grit  they  clawed  and  bit, 

In  the  glorious  joy  of  battle. 

But  they  did  not  see  the  referee, 

Though  they  heard  a window  rattle. 

A “12  M”  shoe  from  the  window  flew — 
The  farmhouse  stood  quite  near  them — 


The  Battle. 


19 


And  it  struck  with  a thump  and  made  them 
jump; 

• Perhaps  it  did  not  clear  them. 

’Twas  a gorgeous  night  for  a rattling  fight, 

• But  they  feared  to  take  more  chances. 

To  the  left  and  right  they  fled,  in  the  night, 

’Neath  the  moon’s  approving  glances. 


Old  Tommy 


MONG  refined  surroundings 
you  have  grown 
To  corpulence  and  age;  and 
you  alone, 

Absorb  such  wealth  of  tender 
sympathy, 

Such  feminine  devotion,  such  a free 
Untrammeled  love  from  those  who  would  not 
be 

Stirred  from  their  thoughts  of  duty,  and  agree 
That  all  their  kindly  acts,  and  all  their  pains 
To  make  you  comfortable  are  simply  gains 
For  their  own  peace  of  mind;  for  you  are  he 
They  worship  to  the  point  of — let  me  see — 
The  word  I need  rhymes  poorly — well,  let  be, 
I can’t  do  better — ’tis  “idolatry.” 


Your  poor  blind  eye  is  source  of  tearful  care 
To  that  affectionate,  devoted  pair. 

Your  limbs  are  stiff,  and  tremble  when  you  try 
• To  cast  your  weight  at  some  aggressive  fly, 
Forgetful  that  the  years  have  pushed  you  by 
The  days  of  youthful,  lithe  activity. 

Your  teeth  are  gone — to  some  extent  at  least — 
Still  ’tis  provided  that  you  daily  feast 
On  dainty  chops  which  carefully  are  “pieced” 
With  knife  and  fork,  and  then  with  gravy 
greased. 

Your  steps  out-doors  are  watched  with  anxious 
eyes. 

If  danger  nears,  help  to  your  succor  flies. 

No  child  was  ever  guarded  with  such  care, 
No  epicure  was  pampered  with  such  fare, 


20 


Old  Tommy. 


21 


No  fragile  infant  ever  took  the  air 
Surrounded  by  a more  persistent  prayer. 

God  bless  the  tender  souls  that  spend  their  days 


In  sweet  subjection  to  their  poor  pet’s  ways. 
God  knows  my  eyes  are  seeing  through  a haze, 
I’ve  naught  of  criticism — only  praise. 


“Pussy  Wouldn't  Go/' 


USSY  CAT,  what  do  you  see, 
Sitting  on  the  stair? 

Why  will  you  not  play  with 
me? 

There  is  nothing  there ! 
Only  just  a little  hole — 
You  can’t  get  in  that! 
Come  and  see  this  nice  ball  roll, 

Foolish  pussy  cat! 

Pussy  cat,  do  come  along! 

Come,  I want  to  play ! 

See,  this  string  is  good  and  strong — 

What  ails  you  to-day? 


Oh,  come  on  and  have  a game 
With  the  paper  rat. 

• I will  make  you ! Fie!  For  shame! 

Naughty  pussy  cat. 

Pussy  cat,  you  will  not  stir; — 

You  are  just  as  mean! 

I will  rumple  up  your  fur, — 

Then  we’ll  have  a scene ! 

My!  You  gave  an  awful  jump— 

• Fairly  shook  the  house. 

Say,  what  made  you  go  “kerthump”? 
Oh!  you’ve  got  a mouse! 


22 


The  Evening  Call. 


HE  hour  comes  when  honest 
folks  retire, 

When  blinds  are  closed  and 
curtains  are  pulled 
down; 

The  lights  go  out — extin- 
guished is  the  fire, 

And  drowsy  quiet  settles  on 
the  town. 

You  stand  a moment  at  your  open  door, 
Watching  the  bats,  as  to  and  fro  they  flit; 


You  hear  a sound  you’ve  often  heard  betore, — 
An  anxious,  “Kit,  kit,  kit,  kit,  kit !” 

A sharp,  and  penetrating  female  strain, — 

You  can’t  conceal  a smile  at  hearing  it. 

A pause  of  nervous  listening — then  again, 
“C-o-m-e,  kit,  kit,  kit,  kit,  kit ! C-o-m-e, 
kit,  kit,  kit!” 

Some  unintelligible  words  of  wrath 

You  hear,  and  then  the  banging  of  a door. 
Kit’s  in.  For  her  there’ll  be  an  aftermath. 
Now,  go  to  bed,  for  quiet  reigns  once  more. 


23 


WATCH  him  from  my  window  as  his  way 
he  picks  along. 

How  daintily  he  lifts  his  feet,  how  active 
he,  and  strong. 

How  graceful  are  his  movements  and  with 
what  a cautious  fear 

He  stops  and  notes  the  distant  sounds  which 
fall  upon  his  ear. 

From  the  barn  he’s  coming  over,  and  the  yel- 
low and  the  white 

Of  his  thick  coat  are  shining  in  the  sunny 
morning  light. 

And  my  eyes  are  fascinated  with  the  pretty, 
anxious  way 

He  steals  across  the  meadow;  and  I lift  the 
sash  and  say, 


“Come,  Billy ! come,  old  Billy ! there  is  naught 
for  you  to  fear; 

Come  home  and  get  the  breakfast  that  is  wait- 
ing for  you  here. 

I’ll  be  down  in  just  a minute,  for  our  usual 
morning  play, 

And  I surely  will  not  scold  you,  for  you’re 
very  clean  to-day.” 

He  has  run  across  the  roadway,  he  is  at  the 
kitchen  door. 

He  is  clawing  at  the  door-knob  with  his  strong 
up-reaching  paw ; 

And  now  he  is  beside  me,  rubbing  hard 
against  my  legs, 

And  I think  he’ll  like  his  breakfast  from  the 
cunning  way  he  begs. 


24 


Oh,  if  you  could  only  see  him — how  he  upright 
stands  and  meets 

My  hand  held  out  to  stroke  him,  and  how  lov- 
ingly he  greets 

The  slightest  demonstration  of  affection  that 
I show — 

“I  know  you  love  me,  Billy — that  is  what  I 

want  to  know, 


25 


“You’re  a fierce  and  wiry  tom-cat,  and  your 
ways  at  night  are  queer, 

But  in  your  fighting  heart  you  hold  a feeling 
for  me,  dear; 

And  you  fairly  haunt  my  footsteps  when  I 
have  to  go  down  cellar. 

I always  recognize  a friend,  and  you  are  one, 

‘old  feller!’  ” 


Seraphme. 


WHEN  I was  quite  a little  boy, 
Long  years  ago, 

I used  to  take  the  keenest  joy 
That  I did  know, 

In  one  who  every  morning  came 
To  visit  me; 

And  presently  you’ll  know  her  name, — 
Just  wait  and  see. 

I called  her  “Seraphina  Stubbs” ; 

She  was  my  cat. 

You  know  one  very  often  dubs 
With  name  like  that, 

Some  favorite  who  never  cares 
What  words  are  told. 

All  names  are  good  which  Memory  swears 
To  love  and  hold. 


Outside  my  window  lay  a roof 
Covered  with  tin; 

And  daily  I,  without  reproof, 

Would  let  her  in. 

Each  morning  she  would  me  awake 
In  curious  way; — 

It  was  a funny  mode  to  take — 

Hear  what  I say! 

The  only  way  that  she  could  get 
To  where  I slept, 

Was  dangerous  for  my  little  pet, 
And  I’d  have  wept, 

If  she  had  fallen  from  the  course 
She  used  to  go. 

No  grief  could  ever  have  been  worse 
For  me,  I know. 


26 


She  used  to  climb  a locust  tree, 

The  other  side 

Of  the  old  house  which  sheltered  me; 

And  so  she  tried, 

By  crawling  far  out  on  a limb, 

And  leaping  fair, 

To  reach  the  roof.  Her  chance  was  slim, 
But  she  got  there. 

Then  up  the  shingled  side  she’d  run, — 
’Twas  pretty  steep — 

And  slowly  down  the  other  one 
She’d  boldly  creep; 

And  then  above  my  window-sill, 

She’d  make  a jump, 

And  on  the  tin,  with  echo  shrill, 

Would  come,  “kerthump.” 


Then  I would  get  right  out  of  bed, — 

I always  did, 

And  stroke  her  pretty  little  head, 

As  in  she  slid. 

The  blinds  I think  would  sometimes  stick, 
And  she  would  mew. 

Now  wasn’t  that  a pretty  trick 
For  her  to  do  ? 

Then  to  my  cot  I’d  quickly  go, 

And  so  would  she, 

Pawing  the  quilt  and  purring  so, 

To  be  by  me. 

And  when  I settled  down  to  sleep 
Without  a word, 

She  cuddled  in  a little  heap, 

And  purred  and  purred. 


28 


Now  my  dear  little  girls  and  boys- 
And  big  ones  too — 

This  tale  of  little  childish  joys 
Is  all,  all  true. 


Seraphine. 


It  is  not  real  poetical, 

As  may  be  seen, 

But  you  will  not  be  critical 
Of  “Seraphine’' ! 


The  Family  Cat ♦ 


DW  many  households  in  this 
land  of  ours, 

How  many  foreign  homes 
contain  a friend 
Who,  cuffed  and  scorned,  in  a 
cold  corner  cowers, 

Or,  fed  and  petted  in  her  happier  hours, 

Holds  ever  to  the  home  unto  the  end? 

Out  in  the  country  where  the  farms  are  scat- 
tered— 

A much-loved  inmate  of  the  rural  home — 

How  many  pleasant  paths  her  feet  have  pat-  • 
tered, 

How  many  dreams  of  mice  she’s  rudely  shat- 
tered, 

And  yet  she  does  not  care  afar  to  roam. 


Her  strong  domestic  tastes  are  very  fitting; 

She  loves  the  places  where  the  people  dwell. 

Always  around  where  dear  old  Grandma’s  sit- 
ting— 

Our  memory’s  eye  looks  back  and  sees  her  knit- 
ting, 

With  cat  in  lap — her  favorite  tortoise-shell. 

In  city  houses  pampered  pets  receive  us, 

Archly  they  greet  us  with  a gentle  purr ; 

Friends  of  the  family  they  must  believe  us — 

They  make  no  polite  effort  to  deceive  us, 

Nor  from  our  favorite  chair  intend  to  stir. 

When  grievous  trouble  hovers  o’er  our  dwell- 
ing, 

And  all  our  heads  are  bowed  ’neath  crushing 
woe, 


29 


30 


The  Family  Cat. 


How  many  of  us  find  relief  in  telling 
To  little  listening  ears,  while  tears  are  welling, 
Our  sorrow,  which  she  somehow  seems  to 
know? 

In  many  little  ways  we  learn  to  love  her — 
Her  little  coaxing  tricks,  her  doings  quaint — 
Intelligence  we  every  day  discover. 


We  really  do  not  feel  so  much  above  her, — 
Like  us,  she’s  often  bad — oftener  a saint. 

Yes,  in  our  hearts  we  often  think  with  sor- 
row— 

We’re  sure  you  very  often  think  of  that, — 
Some  time  there’ll  come  a very  sad  to-morrow ; 
For  while  it’s  wrong  to  foolish  trouble  borrow, 
Our  home  will  lonely  be  without  the  cat. 


Outside 


N a cold  winter  night  while  the  wild 
storm  is  brewing, 

We  cosily  sit,  our  warm  fire  before. 
And  hear  something  scratching  and 
woefully  mewing; 

We  know  it’s  the  kitten  outside  the  front 
door. 


“You  poor  foolish  kitten,  insisting  on  going 
Out  into  the  storm — so  determined  to  go. 
So  out  you  would  get,  tho’  you  knew  it  was 
snowing. 

You  thought  you  were  smart,  but  how  much 
did  you  know? 


In  the  sharp  wintry  blast  she  is  dolefully  cry- 
ing, 

In  the  crack  of  the  door  she  is  dismally  spy- 
ing, 

With  her  cold  little  paw  she  is  painfully  trying 
To  get  back  to  heat  and  to  comfort  once 
more. 


“Did  you  think  that  the  wind  was  like  soft 
summer  breezes  ? 

Do  you  know  that  small  kittens  sometimes  get 
the  ‘sneezes’  ? 

Did  you  find  that  the  frost  sometimes  painfully 
teases  ? 

Would  you  like  to  get  back  to  the  embers’ 
warm  glow? 


3J 


32 


Outside. 


“It  really  is  hard  to  get  up  from  the  fire — 

To  move,  when  so  comfortable,  seems  like  a 
sin; 

But  it’s  growing  so  cold  and  the  wind’s  getting 
higher, — 

You’ve  had  a good  lesson,  so  we’ll  let  you 
in. 


“Come  in,  you  young  rascal,  we  can’t  stand 
your  wailing; 

You’re  covered  with  snow,  and  your  smart 
tail  is  trailing; 

You  are  now  very  meek,  though  you  went  out 
a-sailing. 

Get  up  to  the  fire,  you’re  wet  to  the  skin.” 


Uncanny. 


HERE  is  something  so  pecu- 
liar in  a cat’s  mys- 
terious ways, 

That  I’m  inclined  to 
think  I hit  the  mark 
In  hinting  at  affinities  with 
beings  we  can’t 
praise, 

And  do  not  like  to  think  of  after  dark. 

Have  you  noted,  on  a cosy  winter  evening,  in 
your  chair, 

You  would  start  up  with  a sudden,  “Oh,  dear 
me!” 

As  you  caught,  intently  gazing  at  a thing  that 
wasn’t  there, 

The  feline  member  of  your  family? 


Have  you  noticed  how  she  listens  with  a sharp 
and  anxious  ear? 

And  how  she  moves  her  head  along  the  wall  ? 
And  you  get  so  very  nervous  at  the  things  you 
cannot  hear, 

That  you  hardly  dare  to  go  to  bed  at  all. 


It  is  only  that  her  senses,  preternaturally  keen, 
At  night  are  very,  very  wide-awake ; 

And  she  looks  at  trifling  shadows  on  the  ceiling 
or  the  screen, 

That  our  dull,  human  vision  does  not  take. 


For  the  very  softest  footfall  of  a mouse  in  dis- 
tant wall, 

Does  not  escape  that  most  attentive  ear, 


33 


34 


Uncanny. 


Which  is  tuned  to  fine  accordance  far  beyond 
our  human  call. 

Yet  it  sometimes  makes  us  feel  a little  queer. 

I wish  they  wouldn’t  do  so,  for  it  isn’t  very 
nice 

To  have  attention  drawn  from  pleasant  book, 
And  nervously  imagine — when  they  only  think 
of  mice — 

And  feel  a strange  sensation,  when  they  look. 


Unexpected* 


KITTY,  I think  you  have  something  to 

I’ve  been  expecting  you’d  bring  me 
good  news. 

Go  and  fetch  one  of  them.  Surely  you  owe 
me 

Polite  recognition, — you  cannot  refuse. 

“Didn’t  I make  you  a bed  in  the  cellar, 

Lined  with  the  softest  and  sweetest  of  hay? 
Go,  get  one  for  me !” — She  knows  what  I tell 
her; 

Probably  she  will  go  down  there  and  stay. 

Where  is  she  making  for?  where  is  she  going? 

Off  to  that  bedroom, — that  isn’t  the  way. 
What  is  the  matter? — She’s  usually  knowing — 
“Kitty,  come  back ! Go  down  cellar,  I say !” 


I think  I will  follow  her,  only  to  tease  her. 

I’ll  make  her  go  down  and  bring  one  of  her 
brood. 

She  likes  to  show  off,  and  it  doesn’t  displease 
her 

To  drag  them  upstairs,  though  her  treatment 
is  rude. 

Goddess  of  mercy ! She’s  gone  in  that  closet ! 

The  inviolate  place  where  I keep  my  best 
things. 

If  it’s  in  there  she  has  made  her  deposit, — 

Oh,  let  me  hurry — I wish  I had  wings ! 

Horror  of  horrors!  Right  in  my  best  bonnet! 

Oh,  such  a shock  I have  ne’er  had  before, — 

Five  wretched  kittens,  all  sprawling  upon  it; 

Why  did  I leave  the  box  there  on  the  floor ! 


35 


Unexpected. 

My ! this  is  awful ! I wish  I had  never 
Treated  that  cat  as  my  dearest  of  friends. 
Now  all  the  ties  of  our  friendship  shall  sever; — 
“Never,  no,  never  can  you  make  amends ! 

“Don’t  rub  up  against  me,  don’t  try  to  come 
near  me! 

I wish  that  I never  had  seen  you  at  all.” 

My  bonnet,  my  bonnet,  my  bonnet — oh,  dear 
me ! 

It  cost  me  just  seventeen  dollars  last  fall ! 


Vindication. 


O said  that  cats  were  treach- 
erous ? 

I’ll  tell  him  once  for  all. 
It’s  a base  and  wicked  slan- 
der, 

For  it  isn’t  so  at  all. 

They  evince  real,  strong  affection. 

And  the  most  enduring  loves. 

To  friends  who  treat  them  kindly, 

They  are  gentle  as  the  doves. 

Of  course  cats  have  aversions, — 

I don’t  blame  them ; so  have  I ! 

There  are  several  human  beings 
I can  hate,  and  not  half  try; 

For  I feel  they  are  “agin  me,” 

And  would  harm  me  if  they  could. 


The  cats  have  the  same  feelings, 

And  it’s  very  right  they  should. 

If  they  have  the  feline  nature, 

• And  are  naturally  sly, 

’Tis  the  way  the  Lord  has  made  them. 
And  He  knows  the  reason  why. 

.Will  you  dare  to  criticise  them. 

For  just  being  what  they  are? 

Their  loyalty,  I think,  will  stand 
At  something  over  “par.” 

You  cannot  rub  a tom-cat’s  back. 

Or  lift  him  by  his  tail. 

He  will  resent  such  liberties, 

And  try  to  turn  the  scale. 

His  teeth  and  claws  are  quick  to  act 
In  self-defence — that’s  right. — 


37 


38 


If  anyone  abused  you  so, 

Would  you  turn  round  and  fight? 

Now  as  for  real,  true  loyalty, 

I have  a case  in  mind, — 

A cat  I did  not  think  much  of — 

We  had  not  much  in  kind. 

One  day,  so  sick  and  sore  was  he, 

That  I was  delegated 
To  rid  him  of  his  misery. 

And  have  him  “relegated.” 

I cast  about  for  the  best  way 
To  do  the  dreadful  job; 

Then  got  some  strychnine  and  some  meat, 
And  rolled  a tasty  “gob,” 

And  tempted  him  to  eat  the  same; 

But  he  would  only  chew  it; — 

I felt  just  like  a murderer, — 

However  did  I do  it! 


ication. 


But  he  got  down  enough  to  feel 
That  his  last  day  had  come. 

He  staggered  off  towards  the  barn. 
Away  from  his  dear  home. 

I thought  of  him  as  dying  there. 

In  misery  and  grief; 

And  when  he  did  not  reappear, 

I really  felt  relief. 


In  just  three  days  that  cat  returned, 
And  in  a fine  condition ; — 
Appeared  quite  glad  to  see  us  all, 
And  took  up  his  position. 

The  strychnine  acted  as  a dose 
Which  did  him  lots  of  good. 

I did  rejoice  to  see  him  back, — 

I never  thought  I should ! 


[Well,  what  I started  in  to  say 

Was  this : — he  must  have  thought  it. 


Vindication. 


39 


He  felt  my  mother  was  his  friend ; 

The  rest  of  us  all  caught  it. 

He  never  would  have  aught  of  me. 
Although  I tried  to  pet  him. 

I tried  so  hard  for  his  regard, 

But  never  could  I get  him. 

I see  him  now — just  at  her  feet. 

He  felt  that  was  his  station, 
.Where  he  could  gaze  upon  her  face 
In  silent  adoration. 

His  countenance  was  very  plain, 
But  it  lit  up  with  glory. 

It  was  a most  amusing  thing — 

His  simple,  loving  story. 

And  if  she  took  him  in  her  lap, 
Expression  most  ecstatic 


Shone  in  his  eyes  in  glad  surprise; 

And  if  we  were  erratic, 

And  laughed  and  jeered,  he  never  showed 
The  slightest  indication 
Of  getting  mad,  for  he  was  glad 
To  be  above  his  station. 

If  he  could  only  sit  and  touch 
Her  dress  which  lay  beside  him, 

He  seemed  to  feel  a happiness  for  which 
We  could  not  chide  him. 

„ He  was  so  plain  he  was  a bane ; 

The  kitchen  was  his  station ; 

But  on  her  face  his  eyes  he’d  place, 

In  loyal  admiration. 


The  Stranger  Cat* 


the  cool  calm  of  the  evening 
settles  down, 

Vhen  the  grass  is  full  of  busy 
insects’  hum, 

When  the  dews  are  falling 
lightly, 

And  the  stars  are  twinkling 
brightly 

the  darkened  meadows’  fra- 
grant grassy  gown, — 
This  is  the  time  when  stranger  cats  shall 
come. 

The  kitten  who  has  danced  and  played  all  day, 
Sleeps  softly  in  the  porch  upon  her  mat; 
While  there’s  naught  in  Nature  stirring, 
You  may  hear  her  drowsy  purring, 


As  she  gently  dreams  the  quiet  hours  away, 
Little  thinking  of  the  roaming  stranger  cat. 

You  are  sitting  in  the  shadow  of  the  vines, 

In  the  tranquil  sense  of  everything  so  sweet, 
And  your  dearest  thoughts  are  dwelling 
On  the  things  that  know  no  telling, 

As  you  think  of  what  your  memory  en- 
shrines ; — 

And  the  stranger  cat  is  creeping  up  the  street. 

He  has  noiselessly  crawled  upward  to  the  mat, 
Where  the  happy,  dreaming  kitten  lies  asleep, 
And  administers  a cuff  which  is  very,  very 
rough,— 

A wicked,  rude  and  mean  advantage,  that, — 

It  knocks  my  little  pet  all  in  a heap. 


40 


The  Strang-  er  Cat. 


The  stranger  cat  has  quickly  darted  off, 

Grinning,  perhaps,  with  wicked,  fiendish 
glee, 

To  think  that  with  his  mitten 
He  has  nicely  cuffed  the  kitten, 

And  at  attempt  of  punishment  could  scoff. 
Has  this  occurred  to  you?  It  has  to  me. 


Pussy's  Serenade* 


Beating  fast,  under 


AUTIOUSLY  singing  to  you, 
my  adored — 

Will  you  not  hearken  to 
me? 

Do  you  not  know  of  the 
heart  you  have 
scored, 


So,  you  are  coming!  I felt  you  would  come! 

Under  the  hen-coop  you  were — 

I was  beginning  to  think  you  weren’t  home — 
List  to  my  welcoming  purr! 

Now  I shall  sing  a most  glorious  tale; 

Far  up  the  gamut  I run — 

Few  like  thy  lover  can  sweep  down  the  scale, — 
Hark  to  me,  beautiful  one! 


Why  do  you  linger,  my  beautiful  one, 

Can  you  not  answer  my  call? 

Surely  you  would  not  my  brave  presence  shun, 
Crouching  right  here  by  the  wall. 

Ah!  there  is  danger  in  coming  so  near — 

Yet  I must  win  you  to  say 
That  for  your  company  I discard  fear, — 
Come  to  me,  loved  one,  I pray ! 


Lo,  you  approach  with  a fiery  gaze, 

Lovelight  I see  in  your  eyes. 

Oh,  what  emotions  within  me  your  raise, 

How  your  affection  I prize ! 

Here,  do  not  cuff  me  and  scratch  me  like 
that, — 

I loved  you  a moment  ago. 

Try  it  again  and  you’ll  get  “tit  for  tat  ; 

You  have  no  right  to  do  so! 


42 


Pussy's  Serenade. 


Vain  my  endeavor,  by  sweet  soulful  strains. 
Trying  to  win  your  false  heart, — 

Only  some  cuffs  have  I had  for  my  pains, 

In  anguish  and  rage  I depart. 


Madge. 


mADGE  is  very  fair  to  see, 

And  she  sits  upon  my  knee, 
Gazing  at  me  tenderly, 

In  her  way. 

In  her  eyes  of  depth  so  rare, 

I can  see  I have  my  share 
Of  the  love  abiding  there 
All  the  day. 


Much  of  men  she  does  not  know, 
And  I like  to  have  it  so. 

For  I get  a better  “show.” 

Think  of  that! 

Little  Madge,  upon  my  knee, — 

Oh ! you’ve  stuck  your  claws  in  me 
Get  right  down  and  let  me  be. 
Naughty  cat! 


44 


A Dollar's  Worth. 


IMES  come  when  sentiment 
And  fond  affection’s  bent. 
Must  hie  away; 

And  common  sense  must 
teach 

That  time  will  heal  the  breach, 
So  sore  to-day. 


The  sad  decree  was  cast, 

That  he  must  go  at  last, 

For  he  was  old. 

He  could  no  more  catch  mice — 
Besides,  he  wasn’t  nice, 

And  made  us  scold. 

’Twas  very  hard  to  slay 
The  cat  who,  in  his  day. 

Had  been  our  pride. 


In  Fortune’s  fleeting  grasp, 
For  once  we  got  a clasp, 

Or  he’d  have  died; — 

Our  washerwoman  gray, 
Who  lived  three  miles  away, 
And  had  a team — 

We  won’t  discuss  its  style, 
For  it  was  worth  the  while 
To  help  our  scheme — 

Said  she  would  take  the  cat; 
A little  thing  like  that 
She  didn’t  mind; 

And  he  should  have  a home, 
And  on  the  mountain  roam, 
If  he  inclined. 


45 


4 6 


A Dollar's  Worth. 


It  was  a lovely  plan. 

Our  gratitude  so  ran 
To  such  good  will, 

That  we  bestowed  a sum 
(She  knew,  of  course,  ’twould  come) 
A dollar  bill. 


When  they  arrived  at  last — 
The  horse  was  not  real  fast; 

They  left  at  three, 

I think  ’twas  half-past  five 
Before  they  did  arrive — 
(This  may  not  be,) 


Tied  in  a burlap  sack, 

Without  a single  crack 
For  him  to  peer, 

He  jolted  to  the  place 
Where  he  should  “run  his  race” — 
Three  miles  from  here. 

Our  grief  was  most  sincere, 

For  we  had  held  him  dear — 

The  poor  old  thing. 

Of  course  he  had  to  go; 

But  still  ’twas  quite  a blow, 

And  left  a sting. 


A second-story  room 
Was  meant  to  be  his  tomb, 
For  several  days. 

The  windows  all  were  tight, 
So  he  would  be  all  right, 
And  learn  his  ways. 

A week  went  by,  and  we, 
Rejoicing  to  be  free 
From  such  a care, 

Had  just  commenced  to  feel 
That  all  was  for  his  weal, 
Now  he  was  there. 


A Dollar’s  Worth. 


47 


When,  at  the  kitchen  door, 

.We  heard  a scratching  paw, 

And  went  to  see 
What  stray  had  wandered  where 
It  thought  there  was  good  fare. 

Lo ! It  was  he. 

All  sore  and  cut  and  lame — 

I swear  it  was  a shame 
To  have  him  so — 

For  this  had  come  to  pass : 

He’d  jumped  right  through  that  glass, 
To  homeward  go. 

And  how  he  found  the  way, 

And  travelled  night  and  day, 

To  reach  us  all, 


In  hunger  and  in  pain, 

Is  what  we  can’t  explain. 

It  made  us  crawl. 

• Of  all  delightful  things 

That  good  old  Memory  brings, 
This  is  the  best. 

The  love  of  home  and  folks, 
Even  a cat  invokes, — 

Think  of  the  rest. 

He  had  come  home  to  stay ; 

And  who  should  say  him  nay, 

0 Or  do  him  ill? 

This  place  for  him  was  meant, 
And  we  did  not  lament 
Our  dollar  bill. 


